


Scare

by paperscribe



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Everyone's fine--promise, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, health scare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperscribe/pseuds/paperscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis has a health scare, which leads to a confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scare

It's a morning like any other morning, with James working at his desk and Lewis working at his. Until suddenly it isn't.

"James." Lewis's voice sounds different…strained.

James looks up to see Lewis sitting at his desk, gripping the edge tightly, face pale, tiny beads of sweat coating his forehead. In his hurry to get to Lewis's side, James knocks his chair down, but it doesn't matter.

"What is it, sir? What's wrong?" James asks.

"Chest hurts," Lewis says, and evidently that is a substantial understatement, because he's still gripping the edge of his desk and his knuckles are just as white as his face.

James calls 999 for an ambulance instantly, his mind feeling as though he's neatly detached into two separate people. The calm, competent copper is the one speaking with emergency services on the phone.

The other part of him is doing nothing but shrieking _heart attack heart attack heart attack_ over and over.

"They're on their way," James says, hanging up the phone and resting his hand over one of Lewis's.

"This is how Morse went," Lewis whispers, voice shaky.

James shakes his head, though the fear inside him crescendoes. "Don't think about that now. You need to stay with me."

Lewis looks at him, startled out of his own introspection. "I'm with you." He grimaces in pain.

"I'm sorry," James whispers. "I wish I could help."

Lewis nods; he understands, perhaps better than anyone. "James…I need to tell you something."

"Anything," James says. This can't be happening. He can't be losing his best friend.

"Thomas Merton," Lewis says.

Thomas Merton? Trappist monk _Seven Storey Mountain_ Thomas Merton? "The theologian, sir?"

"Yeah."

James has no bloody clue what Lewis could want to tell him about Thomas Merton, but he's not going to stop him. "I'm listening. Thomas Merton."

"He said once…perfect love meant you didn't need to be loved back," Lewis says.

Understanding hits James like a physical, visceral shock. "Sir. You haven't."

"I have," Lewis whispers, turning the hand James is touching so he can hold on to him. "I'm sorry if this is…a burden…"

"No," James whispers, shaking his head. "It isn't." His hand tightens around Lewis's. "But it might be a little less perfect than you thought."

It takes Lewis a moment to understand. "Really?"

James nods. He can't speak. Not now.

"Bugger," Lewis says.

James can't help it. He laughs. And Lewis laughs too.

"Not much in the way of last words," Lewis says.

"Don't say that," James says, and he's startled by the urgent, lost sound of his own voice. He so rarely loses control that now, when he does, it almost sounds like a stranger speaking.

"You'll be all right," Lewis says.

James shakes his head. "I won't."

"You will. Promise me."

Even now, James can't bear to disappoint Lewis. "I promise."

Lewis nods. "Good."

And then the medics arrive, and there's no time left to talk. James stands well clear as they do their work, and follows at a tactful distance as they wheel Robbie out to the ambulance.

Innocent is nearby as the stretcher passes, and when James sees her, all he can blurt out is, "I have to go." He almost expects her to be angry, but there is nothing but sympathy and solicitude in her expression. She understands.

Again, he feels split into two pieces. The calm piece drives him to the John Radcliffe and walks him inside and answers any question put to him with a minimum of fuss.

But when everything is sorted and Lewis is being examined and there are no more questions to be answered, James is alone in the waiting room, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, and his calm side completely dissolves. It begins slowly as a sniffle here and there, turns perilously quickly to tears, and then he is crying harder than he's cried since he was a child, because if Lewis dies, what the hell is he going to do? People move away from James, or tactfully avoid looking at him; he knows he is embarrassing himself and embarrassing them, but even that can't make the crying stop.

When the deluge has slowed to a persistent drip, a doctor says from the doorway, "Mr Hathaway?"

Suddenly, James is acutely aware of how he must look. He sniffs awkwardly, standing. "Er…yes?"

The doctor smiles and crosses to him. "He's going to be all right."

"His h-heart?" James asks.

"It wasn't his heart causing his discomfort," the doctor says. "It was gallstones, but your friend experienced something called referred pain, which means he felt the pain in his chest when it was coming from his gallbladder."

James is having trouble processing this new information. "His gallbladder?"

"We've taken it out," the doctor says. "He's going to be fine."

James nods, wiping his eyes with his fingers and trying to be collected. It's a losing battle. "Th-thank you."

"You'll be able to take him home tonight," the doctor says.

James stares at her. "Tonight?"

The doctor smiles. "Laparoscopic surgery has a much shorter recovery rate than older procedures used to."

"I suppose it must," James says. 

The doctor nods and turns to leave.

"Thank you for taking care of him," James says.

The doctor looks at him for a moment, then nods. "You're welcome."

James collapses back into his chair with a shudder. He's fine. Lewis is going to be fine.

Lewis is uncharacteristically quiet on the ride home. James wonders if it's because he's in pain, but knows better than to ask directly. Even if Lewis were in pain, he would never admit it, and he would try to hide it as best he could.

With a few grunts of discomfort, Lewis manages to get into his flat and situate himself in bed.

"Should I get you something to eat and drink so you don't have to get up?" James asks. He's eager to be of use.

Lewis sighs. "It's all right, James."

James isn't sure what he means. "What is?"

"You don't have to do…" Lewis waves his hand. "…all this. You're not bound to anything you said before."

"I don't understand."

"Don't make me spell it out," Lewis says, looking pained. "You were being kind. I understand. But you don't have to do that now."

Being kind? James frowns at Lewis. "You thought I was lying?"

"I would've said 'bending the truth,' but yeah, lying," Lewis murmurs. "To make me feel better, so I wouldn't have to pass unshriven."

James smiles at the archaic word. "You're very theological today, sir."

"I blame that on the bloke I'm talking to," Lewis says, a smile crinkling its way around his eyes.

James smiles in answer, then sobers. "Did you mean what you said?" 

Lewis nods, gaze drifting down. "I know it'll be…embarrassing for you, and I…"

James shakes his head. "I'm not embarrassed." He sits on the edge of Lewis's bed, careful not to disturb Lewis.

When Lewis speaks again, his voice is uneven. "You mean you weren't? Being kind?"

James shakes his head.

"Oh," Lewis whispers.

They sit quietly together. So much could be said, but nothing needs to be. Then, slowly, Lewis reaches out and takes James's hand in his.

"My sofa's too short for you," Lewis whispers.

James shrugs. "That's why knees exist."

Lewis chuckles, but his hand tightens on James's. "I'm glad."

Lewis doesn't need to explain what he's glad about. James already knows. 

"So am I," James says.


End file.
